


Meet Me In St Louis

by queeniegalore



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 05:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queeniegalore/pseuds/queeniegalore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months was a long time for a couple who had never even used the word 'couple' to describe what they were</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet Me In St Louis

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic written for a challenge and then never posted at my journal due to laziness.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, nor have any association with the real people the characters are based on. Pure non-profit fiction.

“I’m gonna make you pancakes,” Ray said into the phone. “When you swing by.”

The Missouri winter night was cold, and as he talked his breath wafted in dragon puffs around the mouthpiece and out over the balcony, before disappearing into the night air. But he made no move to go inside, stayed huddled against the balcony, coffee frozen and forgotten on the ledge, a days worth of cigarette butts in the ashtray next to it.

Walt’s voice was scratchy with sand and distance. “Don’t make me pancakes,” he said, and his amusement was apparent, despite the miles. “You can’t cook.”

“I’m gonna,” Ray insisted. “Rainbow fuckin’ pancakes. I saw a recipe where - “

“Ray.” Now the amusement was strained, stretched thin. 

Ray bit his lip. “So how’s Iraq?” he asked politely, punctuating the abrupt change of subject with a flick of his lighter and a fresh puff of smoke. As cold as it was, it was a clear night, and he squinted up at the bright stars over his head as he waited what seemed like forever for Walt’s reply.

“Hot and dusty,” he finally sighed. “How’s Missouri?”

“Boring. Safe.” Ray shrugged, like he thought Walt could see it. “Empty.”

What he meant was ‘Empty without you in it,’ but like jokes about cooking Walt rainbow coloured breakfast, that was something that couldn’t be said over this line. Instead, he sucked on his cigarette in frustration and let the word dissipate like the smoke.

“Empty,” Walt repeated in his scratchy, far-away sand voice. “Yeah, Iraq is pretty empty too.”

Ray guessed that some of the smoke must have reached him over there after all. He blinked at the stars, eyes watering from the cold and the distance and the roughness of Walt’s voice.

“You’ll be home soon,” he said. “Couple of months.”

“Two and a half,” Walt corrected softly. Ray nodded. He knew how long.

“Got everything all ready for you.” He stubbed out his cigarette and added it to the collection. The wind was picking up, blowing ash out over the balcony. “Got the grand St Louis tour all planned out.”

“Remind me why the fuck I’m going to Missouri for a holiday?” Walt was smiling again, Ray could tell. He heard yelling in the background, the sounds of a scuffle. They’d had ten minutes, time to go.

“Because I’m here and you fucking love your pal Ray,” he said quickly. “Shut the fuck up and deal with it.”

“You shut the fuck up.” Jesus, Ray could almost see the smile, big and crooked. He rubbed at his eyes. 

“You gotta go?”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

Another.

“Have fun, kid.” Ray picked up his coffee cup, left the ashtray where it was. “Speak to you soon.” _I love you._

“Catch ya.” _I love you too._

Ray went inside out of the cold.

~

Six months was a long time for a couple who had never even used the word 'couple' to describe what they were. They hadn't discussed the relationship at _all_ before Walt's deployment, instead choosing to hide it in euphemisms and silences, disguise it with sex and friendship. They might have used the word 'love' here and there - soaked in alcohol and cloaked in night time whispers - but never 'couple'. And the six months didn't pass easy for either of them, both giving in to temptation, both still somewhat in the grip of denial, not ready to believe that what they had was _real._

In the depths of a war without Ray, Walt shared a few combat jacks with a young officer from his sister platoon, pressed against each other in a hollowed out building while gunshots rang through the darkness and he could close his eyes and pretend that the warm body panting and moaning next to him was the one he actually wanted. It never amounted to anything, never went beyond what it was, but the first time he spoke to Ray afterwards, heard the depth of feeling that Ray poured out through his voice, Walt felt his heart break in a way he hadn't realised was possible. He didn't go near the officer again, and when his platoon moved out he went gladly, with a relief that was the only thing that came close to cutting through his guilt.

Ray, meanwhile, fell drunk and maudlin into the arms of his ex girlfriend’s best friend, spent half an hour making out with her on her couch before lurching off to throw up in her flowerbed and pass out under his car. He woke up to one of the worst hangovers of his life, but even the pounding headache and queasy stomach didn't hurt as much as the disappointment. That night was the first time he didn't take a call from Walt, and for the rest of the week he tortured himself with the idea that he'd never get the chance to speak to him again, that maybe he was lying dead in a ditch somewhere and Ray would never get the chance to say goodbye.

It took the being apart for them to realise that they really wanted to be together. It was that more than anything - more than the sex, more than the lazy Sunday morning making out, more even than the late night confessions of love - that sealed the deal for them, that made it something that was _happening._ They spoke on the phone, and although their conversations were more guarded than they’d ever had to be before, they said so much more. They said 'This is happening', and 'I want this to work'. They said 'I'm coming home to you', and 'I'm right here waiting'.

They found a million different ways to say 'I'm yours from now on' without ever saying it in words at all.

Although sometimes - when Walt was on libo, when he got five minutes to themselves - they found ways to say other things that, in their own way, were just as damn important.

~

“I’m gonna let you sleep until one in the afternoon, and then I’m gonna make you pancakes and cover them with maple syrup. There’ll be bacon on the side and coffee and chicory, fresh orange juice and shit, I’ll even make you a fruit platter. You’ve probably got fucking scurvy by now. I’ll serve it all to you in bed, and I’ll pull in the TV so we can watch SpongeBob and Harvey Birdman. Sound good?”

“Oooh, baby, talk dirty to me some more.”

Ray laughed, let his voice drop low. “And then I’ll blow you until you can’t even form fucking words anymore.”

“Shit Ray, Jesus. Someone’ll hear you.”

“That’s what you get for calling me between classes, dickhead. But I’m _pretty_ sure that the other cubicles are all empty...”

“Ugh, fuck it, this is the first chance I’ve had to jerk off in private with a phone in forever, just - say something. Anything. Talk more about the pancakes.”

More laughter. “I _will_ make ‘em rainbow coloured, how about that? To symbolise our big gay love.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“Okay, okay, let me start this over. I’ma lay you out in my bed, and...”

~

Walt didn't really have a lot of time to be thinking about Ray, back in the war-zone that was Iraq, but found plenty of random, unconnected moments where his face came to mind all the same.

Sometimes it was during combat, or riding along in a Humvee - he'd flash back to that first go round in the desert, where he'd had Ray with him every step of the way, laughing and talking for miles and miles.

Other times - better times - he'd think of the few stolen weeks they'd had back at Pendleton before Ray left, where they'd first gotten their shit together and started testing the waters of what the two of them could mean.

But the way things had developed between them - whatever those things even were, because Walt still wasn't one hundred percent sure - meant that they were hardly getting started when Ray had to leave California for Missouri, escaping the Marines and the war and, by default, Walt. Walt had chased after him though, and those were the best times of all. Ray's tiny, hot, St Louis apartment, cigarette smoke blowing out across the balcony and hours pressed together in Ray's sagging single bed.

Even the times with the officer - wordless, mindless and empty – weren’t immune to thoughts of Ray. He'd have been stupid if he thought they would be. It wasn't Lieutenant Carmichael he wanted, not by a long shot. He wanted to be back with Ray, away from the war, away from everything, just for a few moments. Wanted to be wrapped up in Ray's sheets while Ray leaned up to blow smoke out the window, shooting down a crooked smile.

It was pretty simple. The longer they were apart, the more he wanted - needed - for them to be back together.

~

When Ray bought a new bed – queen sized, with the best mattress he could afford – the only thing on his mind was they way Walt would look lying in it. 

He enlisted the guys from his garage to help haul it up to his apartment, knocked over his bookcase getting it in, but when it was there, crowding up his little bedroom and looking obscenely clean and fresh and white, it was one of the proudest moments of his life. He knew it was ridiculous, but it felt like an important step on the way to adult-hood, buying a proper bed for his proper – well, boyfriend sounded a bit gay, so maybe he’d leave that part out. His proper Walt.

He bought plain blue sheets, a blue and white striped bedspread, more pillows than he’d ever need. Made it up perfectly, until it looked like a picture in a catalogue, took a photo and sent it to Walt’s email. The caption said ‘Blue to match your eyes, sweetpea’, and he added every emoticon he knew how to make, so it’d look like a joke to anyone else who came across it.

And when he slept in it for the first time – curled up against the wall so he could blow smoke out the window, trying not to get ash on the sheets – he thought about what it would be like when Walt was there to share it with him, and smiled wider than he had since Walt had gone back to war.

~

“Gonna be back in the States the Sunday after next.”

“Great, I’ll stock up on eggs and milk.”

“You know, I’m starting to get unrealistic expectations about these fuckin’ pancakes, Ray. You’ve built them up way too high, you better fucking deliver.”

“Bitch, please. You think Joelle Person raised a baby who couldn’t cook a good breakfast? I’m gonna school the fuck out of you. You’ll love my pancakes so much you’ll jizz butter.”

“You’re a messed up hick, you know that?”

“Yeah, so I’ve been told.”

“Nothing’s fucking changed.”

“That’s why you’re coming out to good old St Louis to spend your leave with me, homes. You _love_ it.”

“Nah, I think I just musta got hit on the head somewhere along the way.”

“Look, I’m not gonna deny that’s a possibility – the fuck are you laughing at?”

“Nothin’. Just – nothin’, Ray.”

~

Walt had planned this shower for weeks, months. He'd stopped by the corner store on the way from base to the motel, not trusting the shitty complimentary soaps that came with the room, and stocked up on fancy shower gel, a loofah, shampoo. He brought it all in with him, stepping out of his clothes in the dim motel room and kicking them to the side, imagining he could still feel the dirt and dust and sand digging its way into the crease of his elbows, the corners of his eyes.

The water pressure wasn't the greatest in the world, but it was hot and the soap smelled like oranges and mangoes and God, the loofah was heaven on his skin. After scrubbing, and washing his hair, and scrubbing again for luck, he just stood there under the spray, head tilted back and eyes closed, letting the water run over his face and down his body.

He thought of Ray.

It was tempting to touch his dick, too tempting, and he ghosted the tips of his fingers down his length, groaning softly as he filled out, hardened. He thought of Ray, and how he'd look kneeling on the floor of the shower, thought of how he'd look with his mouth wide open and his tongue touching his lower lip, thought of how he'd look as he smirked up and wrapped those lips around...

Walt groaned again in frustration and leaned out of the shower, snagging up the wrist watch he'd laid carefully on the edge of the sink. Still too early, Ray wouldn't be off work for another twenty minutes, another thirty-five before Walt could call him. He bit his lip, fingers curled into fists and took a deep breath. He wasn't gonna ruin his shower by blasting the cold water, but it was tempting, almost as tempting as the urge to just give in and take his cock in hand, jerk it until his come splattered all over the tiles while he imagined Ray's stupid, gorgeous face.

He held out, somehow.

He was still hard when he stepped out of the shower, but he studiously ignored it, wrapping the towel firmly around his waist and laying out his shaving kit, taking extra care as he lathered up and smoothed the razor over his skin, taking off the rough blond hairs that had started growing on the trip back, that they'd all started growing in defiance of the grooming standard. He splashed water on his face, looked at himself in the mirror, fingered the light bruise from his Kevlar strap, the scratch from God knows what he had on his left cheekbone. His eyes looked bluer against his desert tan, his hair lighter. He was gaunt, too, not as gaunt as after the invasion - they'd at least been fed consistently this time out - but he could use some pizza, some grits and biscuits, some pancakes and butter.

He thought of Ray again - was always thinking of Ray - and smiled. He was heading out to Missouri in a couple days, was gonna see if Ray'd live up to his ridiculous promise of rainbow-coloured pancakes, wanted to see him covered in pink and blue batter, wanted to lick it off him...

His dick gave an impatient twitch, and by his watch it was only about five minutes too soon to call and Jesus, he was impatient. Ray would be driving home from the auto-repair shop, sunglasses on against the Missouri spring sun, blue coveralls unbuttoned to the waist, his black wifebeater tight against his shoulders... Fuck. He wondered if Ray was as impatient, if Ray was thinking about this as much as he was.

The towel dropped as he made his way out of the tiny bath and into the motel room. The cooler was busted, but California in the spring was nothing like the heat of the desert, and Walt didn't mind the way the warmth filled him up, made him languid as he stretched out on the bed, his phone gripped in his hand.

"Fuck it," he whispered, and scrolled through the menu, looking for Ray's number. "Fuck it, Ray, come on..."

Ray answered on the first ring.

"Tell me you're alone and naked."

Walt laughed, eyes closed in relief. "Fuck it's good to hear your voice."

"You too." Sounds of Ray undressing, a zip being undone, something falling to the floor. "I just got in from work. I'm covered in grease and sweat and all I want is to come like a motherfucker and get in the shower with a cold beer, let's get this show on the road."

Walt laughed harder, his free hand pressed against his forehead. "And they say romance is dead."

Ray snorted. "When you get out here, Walt, I will spend fucking hours at a time making you feel all loved and shit while I eat your ass and suck your dick and whatever, but it's been too goddamned long. I just wanna come with your voice in my ear, okay?"

"Yeah." Walt closed his eyes, imagined Ray covered in sweat, leaving grease marks on his new blue sheets. "You in bed?"

"Uh huh. You didn't answer my question."

"I'm naked, but I've got Jason here filming me, so..."

It was Ray's turn to laugh, a low, breathy sound that went straight to Walt's dick. "That's a good fucking idea, kid. The six months would've got a lot quicker if you'd given me a skin flick."

"Not gonna happen," Walt said, and yeah, finally, he was touching his dick properly, fingers closed around it as Ray kept talking, filling up the space between them.

"Are you kidding me? You know how hot it'd be? Let me do it. Let me film you jacking off. Let me film you with your cock in your fist and your finger in your ass, let me film you coming all over yourself."

"Fuck," Walt gasped. He was so primed, it was like he’d gone from zero to a hundred in half a second. His cock was already leaking, leaving a sticky trail on his stomach, smoothing the motion of his hand. "We could film you fucking me." His hips rocked up, toes curling into the blankets. "Would you like that?"

Ray groaned, long and deep. "Shit yeah, Walt. I could get off to the sight of you fuckin' bouncing on my dick, the look on your face as I jerk your cock."

Walt could imagine it, could imagine them watching it together, or together-apart, like this. "Yeah, talk to me, Ray, tell me how..."

"I'd make you watch it with me.” Ray read his mind, as always, and a bolt of lust went through Walt at the thought of letting Ray have his way. “I'd make you watch yourself, watch yourself come."

Walt pressed his face into the pillow, fingers slipping on the phone. "Ray," he panted, "Fuck, Ray, Ray..."

"Come on, Walt," Ray's voice was strained, low. "Come on, give it up for me, come for me, I wanna hear you come. Shit, I can't wait until you get here, can't wait to get my hands on you, gonna be so hot. Can't wait to see your face when I fucking finally get back inside you."

" _Ray_ ," Walt was getting desperate now, knew he wasn't holding up his end of the phone-sex bargain, but didn't care. He could feel it building, feel his orgasm growing, ready to explode. "Gonna come, shit, tell me, tell me what you're gonna do..."

"Gonna fuck you so hard, so good. Gonna make you come just like you are now. You gonna come for me, Walt?"

"Yeah, Ray, fucking _now_."

He couldn't believe how good it felt, couldn't believe how much difference it made just having Ray there to talk him through it. His come spurted out between his fingers, splattering his stomach and chest, and through it he heard Ray gasping, moaning his name, knew that Ray was right there with him, about to tip over the edge.

"Oh god that was good," he whimpered, milking out the last drops, rubbing his thumb one last time over the sensitive head of his cock. "Oh fuck."

"I can just fucking see you covered in your own come," Ray was saying, "Tell me - shit - "

"Yeah, I am," Walt said through the fog in his head. "Got it fucking everywhere, Ray, I'm gonna need another shower. Fucking filthy with it."

"Fuuuuuck." Walt knew the exact moment Ray came, knew the hitch in his breath, knew by the way his voice finally trailed off and devolved into one long, soft moan.

"Ray," he breathed. "Ray, you sound so good to me right now. You just come? Wish I was there with you to lick it all off."

"Motherfucker," Ray whispered, his voice hoarse he'd just run a marathon. "Fuck. Fuck you, that was awesome."

"It was okay." Walt grinned and stretched out on the bed before leaning over to snatch up his towel, wiping himself clean. "I mean, I've had better..."

Ray’s laugh was slow and rough, and something in it went right through Walt’s heart. "No you fuckin' haven't. Shut the fuck up. I am the goddamned king of phone sex."

Walt kicked the blanket out from under himself and slipped naked under the sheets. He felt better then he had in months, clean and warm and satisfied, and absurdly close to Ray.

"Yeah yeah, you're the king. Shit, I could sleep for days."

"Mmm." He heard Ray's lighter flick, a sound as familiar to him as breathing, and then a deep inhale.

"You're not supposed to be smoking inside," he said sleepily, already feeling the languor overtake him, making his limbs and eyelids heavy.

"Shut up and go to sleep, Walt," Ray murmured. "Three pm Friday, right?"

"That's right," Walt confirmed. "You'd better be there, bitch."

"As if I wouldn't be," Ray said gently. "Go on. Go to sleep."

Walt yawned and gave in. "Aiight, Ray. I'll call later."

"Sweet dreams, fuckface."

Walt smiled as he hung up, and was asleep before he knew it, dreaming of Ray, his dimples and his tattoos, that low, dark laugh. 

~

Ray waited at the terminal for approximately three years before Walt finally stepped through the doors, and when he did, Ray had no idea what to do or say.

Walt was smiling. That was important, the most important thing that Ray had ever seen, and his brain kind of flew apart at the sight, at the way Walt's face lit up when he saw him, at the way his eyes were bright and his teeth gleaming. 

Six months was a long time.

He hung back as Walt sauntered towards him, thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans, head tilted back. Walt had a pack slung over one shoulder and a flannelette shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was lighter that Ray remembered, his tan darker. His smile, though…it was exactly the same.

“Hey, fuckhead,” Ray said lowly as Walt stepped up in front of him. Walt laughed.

“Hey, dickface.”

Ray bit his lip and took a step closer. Walt smelled like orange juice and cotton. Ray wanted to touch his cheek and his mouth, wanted to pull him into a hug, but settled for punching him in the arm and taking his pack.

“How was your flight?” he asked, but what he _meant_ , what he was _thinking_ when he looked into Walt’s eyes and smiled, was – _I love you._

And when Walt whacked him back and nodded his head, Ray was pretty sure that that meant _I love you too._

He grinned and cocked his head. “Come on, Walt. I think I owe you some pancakes, right?”

And Walt just bumped their shoulders and headed to the entrance. “Yeah, I think you fuckin’ do.”


End file.
